


In Chains Bound

by Soaring_Ren (Robin_Knight)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Dark Shiro (Voltron), Grooming, M/M, Past Sexual Abuse, Psychological Trauma, Rape/Non-con Elements, Suicide, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-14 19:26:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10542999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin_Knight/pseuds/Soaring_Ren
Summary: Lance knew something was wrong.He knew it from the small touches. He knew it from the soft words. He just didn't realise that it would lead to something far worse, far more horrible than he could imagine, and the only person he had to turn to . . . was Keith. He simply prayed Keith could help him to cope and survive, but recovery was never an easy process.





	1. Chapter 1

“I still can’t believe it . . .”

Lance looked down into his mug. The steaming contents wafted clouds about his face, warming his skin and adding to his blush of embarrassment, and the scent of hot cocoa – so rich and so pure – tempted him closer to a taste. He raised the mug to his lips, where brown hands warmed against hot ceramic. The liquid burnt at his tongue, as he tried to take a small sip, and forced him to bring the beverage back down to his lap.

The bedroom was small and not yet personalised. Lance and Pidge had put effort into their respective rooms, with either an array of toiletries or a collage of pictures, and – despite not having many possessions – they found enough to stamp their personalities on their respective spaces. Shiro’s room was different. It was the same small bunk as all the others, but without any sign of having been lived. The sheets on the bed were tucked back military style, as if no one had slept in them that same morning, and no clothes could be seen.

Shiro sat opposite with spread legs and hands clasped between, as he leaned forward with a soft smile upon his lips. The scar across his nose crinkled with the gesture. Lance noticed that his hair was somewhat mussed, with the white lock falling about his grey eyes with a frustrating occurrence, and his clothes were creased enough that Coran – or more likely Allura – could have complained on sight of them. Lance gave a half-smile and looked down.

“Sorry, Shiro, I guess I woke you, huh?”

There was a soft chuckle from Shiro. He ran a hand over his chin, where Lance noticed a tiny amount of stubble, and moved to sit closer to Lance. The two of them sat side-by-side on the bed; it reminded Lance of the friendly intimacy with Hunk, back when they shared a room and would stay up late trading gossip and rushing through the remnants of their homework, and he smiled despite his pain. He swallowed hard. Shiro nudged him gently, before he motioned to the cup of cocoa and waited for Lance to take a sip.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Shiro.

“Yeah, but you’re like my hero! Now I’ve let you down.”

“You could never let me down, Lance.” Shiro reached out and squeezed his knee. “You’re our best sharpshooter. There’s a reason why we’re all a team; not one of us could do this job alone, and you’re just as valuable a member as anyone else here. If you need me – even it’s in the middle of the night – you only need to ask, okay? No exceptions.”

“That’s easier said than done.” Lance took another sip. “You _so_ know what Keith is going to say: ‘ _Oh, I’m so emo, I never need advice so Lance shouldn’t need advice, now watch as I go save the day and get the girl_ ’. It’s not fair. Allura wouldn’t have turned _him_ down.”

“Actually, I have it on good authority that she would.”

“Huh, what do you mean?”

Shiro heaved a long sigh and placed his hand on Lance’s leg. It wasn’t exactly a strange gesture, as Shiro had always been physically affectionate with the other Paladins, but – even without any real reason – Lance felt a spark of discomfort. The fingers were spread a little too wide, while his thumb moved in soft circles, and Lance brought his legs together in hope of dislodging the hand from his thigh. The fingers were trapped between both limbs for a few seconds, until Shiro pulled them away with a strange sound from the back of his throat.

They sat quietly for a while; Lance sipped at his cocoa, as he looked to Shiro and saw his friend’s hand – splayed upon the bed, just a few millimetres from his buttocks – where it braced his weight and kept his upright. Lance shook his head, before he downed the rest of his cocoa. The hot liquid burned at his throat. It distracted him from the confusion and discomfort, before he caught a grin on Shiro’s face and saw him lean closer.

“It’s about the power imbalance,” said Shiro.

“Yeah, still not following.”

“Allura is in a position of power over you.” Shiro smiled and nudged him again. “I imagine she was extremely flattered, Lance; you’re handsome, intelligent, and perhaps the most loyal and empathetic of all the Paladins. It’s just that there is an age difference. I know you meant well, but it put Allura in an awkward position. There was no way she could say ‘yes’.”

“Okay, so she’s the princess, but it’s not as though I’m Altean!” Lance dropped his head with a heavy sigh, as he pouted and stared into his empty mug. “If it’s about the team, you’re pretty much the leader, right? I mean, we’re on equal footing, so –”

“It’s a conflict of interests. We rely on Allura for – well – basic survival while we’re in this castle, and that’s not to mention the age difference between you guys. Allura has lived her life, Lance, so she’s had a lot of experiences both good and bad, and it could be that – in a few years – you’d regret a relationship with her, because you’re both in very different places in your lives and you lack the experiences she’s had to make an educated decision.”

“Yeah, I guess you have a point.”

Lance continued to pout, as he sat quietly upon the bed. There were strange sounds in the corridor, almost like a scrape of something hard upon stone, and he could make out the laughter of Pidge and Hunk in the process. They were likely using trays from the kitchen to race down the corridor, playing a familiar game that often resulted in both bruises and childish argument on who really won, and – as he listened – he both envied them and pitied them. If they were all just a little older, Allura might take him seriously. He muttered:

“I’ll get older, though.”

Shiro laughed. It was a deep sound that brought a smile to Lance’s face; the bed rocked with the movement, while a hand came up to rest upon his shoulder, and – as Lance listened to the sounds of his hero and mentor – long fingers began to rub circles about his neck. The movement of callused fingertips caused Lance to sigh, as he rocked into the touch, and he realised just how much he missed his family back on Earth.

He missed the hugs from his siblings, or the random massages from his parents, especially when he’d pull a muscle or exhaust himself from work, and he even missed the playful slaps and taunts from his aunts and uncles. The physical affection was missing in space. Sure, he could rest his head on Pidge’s lap or lean against Hunk, but it wasn’t the same as being _held_ or _touched_ and having it mean nothing except an expression of love. Lance barely noticed when the hands moved lower, but he did notice when Shiro moved closer to his ear.

“Don’t ever change, Lance,” said Shiro.

“Huh?” Lance asked. “Why?”

“You’re perfect the way you are . . . right now, right here.”

Lance blushed. He turned to see Shiro just an inch from his cheek, with hands still upon his back, and – despite the awkward positioning – Lance no longer felt that safe and familial love, but something that was just beyond his grasp. He stood up and faced Shiro. The older man smiled up at him with an innocent expression, making Lance doubt every thought that crossed his mind. He furrowed his brow and bit his lip, as he folded his arms and looked nervously towards the door. It was unlocked. There was nothing to stop him leaving.

“Er, I better get going,” muttered Lance. “Thanks, though.”

Shiro stood up and placed a hand between his shoulder blades. He gently escorted Lance toward the door, where he paused and leaned into his personal space once more, and Lance – who pulled back out of instinct – felt his heart race in a nervous pattern. The door opened silently and revealed the race that took place within the corridor, leaving Lance with an exit that wouldn’t look suspicious or forced. Shiro leaned against his ear and whispered:

“Come back any time.”


	2. Chapter 2

Lance tasted blood.

He bit at his lip, gnawing until the pain brought him to reality. The taste of iron upon his lips was unpleasant, not to mention that he could feel the roughness of broken skin inside his mouth, but the memories of the past few days – past few _hours_ – rankled in his mind . . . _you look good like that, Lance, you should stay dressed like that more often_ . . . Lance clenched harder at the ends of the towel draped around his neck. He felt his heart race.

The elevator felt particularly cold. He shivered, as cool air hit bare skin. Lance had never felt particularly bothered walking around in Altean swimwear before, quite proud of his dark skin and slim physique, but he had never noticed those eyes before. It was uncomfortable to feel naked and consumed, especially when he was left uncertain how much was in his head and how much was real. Lance sighed again, eyes half-lidded and lips pursed. He barely noticed as a hand came out to stop the elevator doors from closing. A body appeared.

In a moment of panic, Lance feared for the worst.

It was a relief to see Keith also dressed in swimwear. The other boy wandered inside, with a particularly grumpy expression, likely from having seen his sworn rival stuck within an enclosed space with him. He draped his towel over black hair, while he hunched his shoulders and stood a few inches beside Lance. There were a few slight and subtle scars upon his skin, so silver that they blended in with his pale tone, and – when combined with callused fingers and stoic demeanour – it leant the impression of someone who suffered. Lance chanced a question, as his voice shook with a low tone:

“Er, hey, Keith?”

“Lance,” asked Keith, “don’t we have a rule about not speaking?”

They stood in silence for a few seconds. The lift began to move and Lance gave a long sigh, which soon turned into a childish moan, and – as Keith ignored him – the moan turned into a louder and more high-pitched cry of frustration. Two fists clenched by the sides of Keith’s hips, when Lance dropped his head and slumped his shoulders, before a few sniffs echoed about the enclosed space and turned into various sighs. Keith growled, before he swung around with arms bent and clenched fists by his chest. He spat out in a loud voice:

“What do you want, Lance?”

Lance spun to face Keith, as he leaned forward slightly to get more at eye-level. He beamed a bright smile, enough that Keith dropped his hands and head to give a low groan in turn, before he crossed his arms and looked to Lance with a strong pout. Lance took that as a good sign; he stood straight and tried to lessen his smile, which was made easy when he remembered with just whom he was talking, and so he shrugged and asked:

“Do you think Shiro is a bit . . . physical?”

Keith furrowed his brow. He took a step back and looked to the side, where he pursed at his lips and scratched at his arms, and – as Lance watched him with a raised eyebrow and quirked head – he got the impression that Keith was nervous. The doors soon opened onto the Altean swimming pool; Keith hopped out and headed into the centre of the room, where he looked up to the clear waters with a sign and a rub of his neck. He spun around – as Lance walked with bare feet slapping on the tiles – and placed his hands on his hips.

“What do you mean by ‘physical’?”

“It’s probably nothing.” Lance stopped a few feet from Keith. “I just – well – I guess I’m just not used to people being so affectionate, you know? I mean Coran is pretty friendly and like an uncle to me, and Hunk is totally my best friend and all, but . . . it’s different, you know? I – I guess it’s just making me uncomfortable. I – I don’t know . . .”

“No. Finish the thought.” Keith folded his arms with a shrug. “If it was important enough to bring up, the very least you can do is finish the thought. It’s just -? Look, I’m not saying I _do_ know what you mean, but I might . . . well . . . I might know. Just . . . finish, okay?”

“Okay, well, I guess he just seems to touch me more than usual? Like, okay, it’s like -! Okay, so I went to ask him for advice the other day, right, only he kept touching my knee and rubbing my back, only I have no idea whether he’s just being affectionate or – I don’t know – something is up, you know? Then today he keeps looking at me with this – this – this _smile_ , which is perfectly friendly, but it just made me really self-conscious, so . . . yeah.”

Keith ran a hand over his face. He shook his head and began to pace back and forth, so that Lance was forced to watch him with an anxious stare, and – as he soon came to a stop – he marched before Lance until they were just a few inches apart. Lance craned back his head, desperate to give some space between them. There was a flush on the other boy’s face, while his lips were pressed into a white line, and his hands were clenched so tightly that Lance was sure he saw a few specks of blood on those pale hands. Keith asked in a low voice:

“Does he lean into your space?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“He probably whispers in your ear, too,” muttered Keith. “I’m guessing he invites you into his room at night, probably to ‘confide’ in him. He’ll be giving you gifts, paying you compliments, spending more time with you . . . I bet it seems nice, huh?”

“Er, yeah, kind of?” Lance mumbled. “How’d you _know_ all that?”

“It happened to me, too.”

Keith dropped his hands by his side. A speck of blood fell from his palm; it dropped onto the floor, staining the otherwise perfect tile, and Lance looked to it with a heavy frown and a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. The rise of nausea forced him to draw a deep breath, as his heart began to sound loudly in his ears. Keith looked drained. He was hunched over, with eyes unfocussed and cast upon the floor, and he refused to meet Lance’s eyes. Lance drew in a broken and staggered breath, as he asked in a voice too quiet to be properly heard:

“What do you mean it happened to you?”

There was a cold silence about the room. The others were nowhere to be heard; Pidge studied within her workshop, while Shiro sparred with Coran in the training rooms, and Hunk was likely teaching Allura how to make Earth cookies. They wouldn’t be disturbed, but – somehow – that only made Lance feel more pressure and more vulnerable. He swallowed hard and looked to Keith, only to see eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

“It was back on Earth,” admitted Keith.

“I thought Shiro is like a brother to you? So why would -?”

“He _is_ like a brother to me, but I -?” Keith shook his head and shrugged. “Look, Shiro and I have a complicated history. I want to hate him, but I can’t . . . I just can’t. I look at him and just think about all the times I nearly lost him . . . when I _did_ lose him . . . I hate that I still care about him, but I just can’t stop loving him, and now that it’s all stopped -? I don’t know. I don’t know whether he’s moved on or gotten help or if it’s just . . . _me_.

“A part of me wants to ask him, but it’s in the past. What’s the point bringing up something he’s probably forgotten? Things are good now. We get on and we’re friends. I know he’d do anything to protect me, and I know he really does care about me, and a part of me just doesn’t want to ruin that by making him feel guilty, but – honestly – a part of me is just scared that it might remind him and things might . . . start again. I still get nightmares. I spend a lot of my nights just sitting up in bed or waiting for the alarm to sound, but I can’t blame him. I can’t.”

“You make it sound more than just . . . touches.”

Keith gave a strange smile. It pulled up at the corner of his mouth, leaving the other half down-turned, and his eyes had a shimmer that spoke of inevitable tears. He drew in a deep and audible breath, before he blinked and the tears seemed to vanish out of sight, before he ran a hand through his thick mullet and shrugged. The smile became almost sincere, as he looked to the doors and then looked back to Lance and whispered:

“It _started_ as just touches.”

Lance felt his stomach sink. It was a deep physical pain, like Keith had soccer-punched him in the gut, and – as bile rose to the back of his mouth, burning his tongue with an acidic taste – he felt his blood run cold. The sensation was unbearable. It was like cold water being slowly poured over his skin, so that he stumbled back a few steps and ran a hand over his neck and face, until he desperately glanced about the room for some form of out. There was nothing in sight to distract him. Nothing to provide an exit.

“What – What happened?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Keith. “Not really. I just know that one day he was leaving these magazines about, then another day talking about relationships, and one day ‘accidentally’ walked out of the shower naked. I went to his office one time to talk about homework. He slid his hand a little too high; I was nervous and asked him to move it, but he squeezed and said I liked it. I – I guess I must have liked it? I didn’t want it, but I . . . you know . . .

“It – It wasn’t rape. I don’t think I told him ‘no’ . . . I was too scared to say anything, in case he got angry or in case he ignored me, better to just go with it, I guess. It didn’t hurt. I remember kind of . . . _reacting_ . . . at points. That’s what I hated most. I hated feeling _good_ , because I didn’t think I wanted it and what did that say about me? He told me I was a good boy and how good everything was and – and – and I just wanted him to be proud of me. I just lay there the whole time and tried not to cry. I felt weak. Used.

“You know, there’s not enough showers in the world. I started to avoid him, even avoided his classes and took the long way to get to my dorm room, and I’d never make eye contact. He just sought me out, asked me what he’d done wrong . . . cried at one point . . . I felt so guilty, because I never wanted to hurt him. I ended up going to his office every day after classes. I’d shower every night until my skin turned red. I just . . . had to.”

Lance looked down in discomfort.

The speck of blood on the floor was a stark reminder of their reality; it had somewhat solidified, slowly turning brown in the air, and – as Keith followed his gaze – a pale and dainty foot slammed down upon the speck with an incredible force. It jolted Lance out of his daze. He looked to Lance and saw the anger and pain; out of all the months spent together in space, not once had he considered trauma as a reason for Keith’s supposed arrogance and spontaneity. Lance felt his mouth run dry, as he fought his sense of shame.

“When did it stop?” Lance asked.

There was a long exhale of breath from Keith. He rolled his head back and forth, before he sat down upon the floor cross-legged, and Lance – curious and somewhat defeated – sat opposite him with eyes downcast and will broken. The tiles were cold against his skin, grounding him and providing a small comfort, but his thoughts remained entirely upon his virginity and how he promised to only give it to a girl worth his love.

“Kerberos,” said Keith.

“It took that long to stop?”

“I was going to tell Iverson while Shiro was away.” Keith shrugged. “I wasn’t sure if it counted as abuse, but I just know I _really_ wanted it to stop. I didn’t want for Shiro to get back and have to worry about cleaning myself out or being too sore to sit the next day for classes or have to feel his breath on my neck. I can still feel it now. I hate it.”

“He stopped, though. He stopped, right? So you must have told Iverson or – or – or _someone_! If he were still doing it to you, he wouldn’t be trying it with me. Do you think I should tell Allura or Coran? I mean maybe they can stop it before it happens or –”

“I didn’t tell anyone.” Keith looked to Lance and blinked rapidly, as he gave a shaky smile and rubbed his lips together. “The day I went to tell Iverson was the day Shiro went missing. I snapped. I lost the only real friend and brother in my life, but I also lost the one person who made me feel cheap and used my body like a fucking sex toy. I freaked out; I was grieving Shiro and relieved he was gone, all in the same breath. I was a damned mess.”

Lance winced and pulled the towel from his neck. He twisted it in his hands, desperate for some basic form of distraction, but Keith’s words echoed in his head. It was impossible to imagine how someone could love their abuser, but there Keith sat – head low and forearms rested upon firm legs – with a clear concern across his expression. He looked . . . _torn_. Lance could understand; he could understand what it was like to idolise that man, just as he could understand what it was like to fear ever being alone with him. He understood.

They sat in silence for a long few moments, while Lance wrung the towel until the fibres of the fabric left an imprint upon his palm. He cast furtive glances to the doors, afraid of being seen or being interrupted, but the doors remained closed and the only sounds were that of their breathing and the rapid beating of his heart. There was a chill in the air, which tempted him to try and find a way into the pool above, but instead he asked:

“So I shouldn’t tell anyone?”

Keith gave a loud exhale of breath. He leaned back on his hands, as he looked up at the pool above, and – together – they observed the small ripples on its surface that came with the airflow. It was oddly beautiful. Lance smiled at memories of Earth . . . splashing Hunk in the training pool at the Garrison, teaching his niece to swim at the community pool, and pretending to drown at his uncle’s pool (he also remembered the smack afterwards) . . . there was something about the water that helped him. Keith was the one to break the silence.

“I don’t know, maybe?”

“Maybe I should tell someone?” Lance asked.

“I can’t advise you what to do, Lance,” muttered Keith. “If I’m honest -? A sick part of me is _glad_ he’s starting this with you. If he’s busy screwing you, he won’t come back to me. He’s been pretty good to me since he came back; we’ve bonded and sparred and talked, not so much as a sign that he wants me that way. I’ve been scared, but . . .”

“So – So what do I do? I’m not gay, Keith!” Lance blushed and looked away. “Even if I were gay, I don’t want to do those things with Shiro! Did – Did I lead him on? Is it how I dress or walk or something I’ve said to him? I – I can change. What did I do?”

“You know, I asked myself that question every day.”

Keith chuckled, as he ran a hand over his neck and shoulder. It was difficult to imagine him ever leading anyone on; Keith always wore clothes that covered him head-to-toe, always stood on the fringes of the group, and rarely spoke outside of their current heart-to-heart. He gnawed at his lip, where he reopened his earlier wound and tasted blood. Lance cursed, as he rubbed away a stray tear from his eye, before he heard Keith say in a deep voice:

“Stay away from him, okay?”

The voice was a clear warning and spoken in a low tone. Keith struggled to his feet, where he stretched out and he cricked his back, and – as Lance stood and stretched in turn, with larger movements and more exaggerated gestures – Keith stopped and stared at him with narrowed eyes, as if Lance’s actions somehow offended him. Lance glared back. He stuck out his tongue, before he blew a raspberry, and suddenly Keith smirked in response, as if he actually took some humour in their return to their rivalry. Keith nodded and warned:

“I mean it, Lance. Don’t give him a chance.”

“To what -? Rape me?”

“Honestly, yeah?” Keith shrugged. “I don’t know what Altean laws are on these things, but do you _really_ think they’ll take our word over his? They wouldn’t even believe he stole the last piece of toast over breakfast. He just laughed, remember? Pidge idolises him, because he’s a family friend, while Allura is his best friend and only equal, and –”

“Okay, I get it. I’ll just avoid him. I won’t give him a chance . . .”

“Seriously, don’t let yourself be alone with him.”

Lance swallowed back the blood in his mouth. The guilt at avoiding Shiro burned in his throat, but the fear of being alone with Shiro caused his chest to ache. He felt dizzy; the room began to spin, as he saw double of Keith and struggled to focus his eyes, and yet he knew – as he struggled to control his breathing – it was all in his head. Lance blinked away tears. Shiro was in charge of the team, including various schedules, and to avoid him might be to bring attention to the problem. He rubbed at his neck and bit his lip once more.

“Easier said than done,” muttered Lance.


	3. Chapter 3

Coldness.

It was the first thing Lance noticed. He opened his eyes; there was a harsh sting from soap, while tears and water distorted his vision, and he was forced to blink rapidly to try and restore some of his sight. The white tiles upon the walls and floor shone with moisture, as the water from the shower sprayed about the centre of the wet-room. It was cold. The water struck at his skin with a painful intensity, while the cold burned at his flesh.

He crouched on the backs of his heels; thin arms wrapped around his legs, while soft fingertips pressed into his knees until the skin turned white with pressure, and he buried his head between his legs in hopes of losing himself. There was an ache in his lower back. It was unlike any other pain, like a burning sensation or a friction burn, but something deep inside that felt just like an open wound. It was something stretched and torn, even though he knew no damage had been done. Lance drew in a staggered breath and gave a shaky smile.

The cold water sent shivers through his body. He rocked and his teeth chattered, until he heard a knock upon the wet-room door and his body turned still as ice. The only sound was the racing heartbeat in his ears, along with the cascade of water from the showerhead above, and – as he turned his face slowly to the door – he gnawed at his lip and fought back tears. The door was unlocked. He hadn’t thought to lock it. A voice called out:

“Yo, you done in here?”

The door opened at a slow speed. Lance knew that the doors were programmed to open at the same speed, with little to no deviation, but every inch that it slid appeared to be at snail’s pace, and each millisecond his anxiety grew to unreal levels. He hadn’t realised he had been holding his breath until he saw Keith. Immediately, he exhaled a deep and low breath. The other boy stood in the doorway in his usual attire, with thumbs tucked into the waistband of his trousers in a casual manner. He looked down at Lance with a raised eyebrow.

“Seriously,” said Keith, “you got to get up.”

Lance caught sight of a hand. Keith slammed onto the controls beside the door, which shut off the water and caused the rain-pattern to descend into a small trickle. The water continued to fall upon his head; it ran off wet hair and onto smooth shoulders, until it eventually stopped in its entirety and left him naked and cold upon the wet-room tiles. There was a sound of several drops as they dripped onto the tile below, while Lance continued to sit in place.

A towel was thrown in his direction. It landed haphazardly across his back. Lance left it for a moment, letting his damp skin experience the feeling of cotton upon flesh, before he slowly stood – no longer concerned about his modesty – and wrapped the towel slowly around his waist. There was a blush from Keith; he looked to the side, with arms now folded across his chest, and pouted as he tried to ignore Lance within the wet-room. It took all of Lance’s strength to turn and face Keith, even as he fiddled with the towel at his waist. Keith asked:

“You trying to get clean?”

“I got clean like an hour ago,” mumbled Lance. “I don’t feel dirty, honestly. I – I just knelt down and tried to think, ‘cause the water was relaxing, you know? Only I think I lost track of time and zoned out. I just feel kind of . . . numb. It’s – It’s like I had all these thoughts and feelings and dreams, but now there’s just this . . . numbness. There’s nothing, Keith!”

“Of course there’s something.” Keith shrugged and shook his head. “You have to feel _something_ ; you have to be angry or depressed or disgusted. I know that this got to me pretty bad, left me doubting everything about myself, there wasn’t just . . . _nothing_.”

“Yeah, well, bully for you! I – I don’t feel anything. I just don’t!”

“Well, maybe _you’re_ the lucky one then.”

Keith sighed and stepped into the room; Lance flinched, taking an instinctive step backward, until the soles of his feet slid against wet tile and – as a rush of adrenaline coursed through him – he slipped. There were loud footsteps, followed by hands upon his arms. Lance regained his balance. He looked into Keith’s eyes and panic coursed through him . . . _rough and callused hands pinned him to the mattress, a smiling face whispered how he was a good boy, and then the hands moved and stroked patterns down his collarbone . . ._

Lance cried out and pushed Keith back, as he struggled to stumble into his bedroom. The room was warm, filled with a heat that disorientated him after so long under the cold spray, and – as he instinctively moved to the bed – he froze and struggled for breath. The door closed behind him, while Keith stepped inside and stood behind him. It was too enclosed . . . no room for escape . . . Lance moved to his desk and braced himself with open palms.

“I _told_ you to stay away from him,” muttered Keith.

It was difficult to breathe. Lance looked down at the desk with eyes unfocussed and tears threatening to spill, as he tried to concentrate on how it was Keith’s voice . . . this was the boy that sparred with him and trained with him . . . his rival and friend . . . still the words echoed about in his head like a mantra. _You’re such a good boy, Lance_. He turned around and leaned back against the desk, as he raised a hand to his mouth and shook his head.

“I tried,” mumbled Lance. “I tried to keep away.”

“Do you want a hug or something?” Keith gave a hiss of breath. “It’s not really my kind of thing, but – totally just as a one-off – I’m okay to hug you just this once. Never again, though, okay? Let’s not make this a thing. Just . . . I’m here for you.”

“I – I don’t want a hug.” Lance laughed through his tears. “It’s weird, you know? I really _like_ contact with people . . . hugs, kisses, punches, pats on the back . . . now I can’t _stand_ it, like every time someone comes near me it’s like I’m reliving it all again. Hunk slaps my shoulder, I remember how things started off so awesome and friendly. Coran leans into whisper something, I can _smell_ his breath and _feel_ his hands all over me. Is that . . . normal?”

“I – I don’t know. It wasn’t normal for me, no. It never really bothers me much when people touch me, but then I never really liked it when people touched me anyway. No real changes, at least for me. Still, I know Shiro gets flashbacks of his time on the Galra ship, so maybe some people are affected by trauma differently. Maybe you’re just . . . er . . . never mind.”

“Maybe what? Maybe I’m just like Shiro?” There was a cold silence, until Lance whispered in a cold and sharp voice: “That’d be pretty funny, wouldn’t it, if the only person who can understand what I feel is the same person that caused it? What a joke that’d be.”

“Do you think they get counsellors in space?”

The seemingly non-sequiter caused Lance to clench his fists. There was a rush of anger merged with his pain, so that his quickening heartbeat could have easily been panic or rage, and – no longer knowing what he felt – he blinked away tears and threw back his head. He looked to the ceiling and then looked away . . . _got to count the tiles . . . five, six, ten . . . how long does this last? Is it always this long . . . thirty, thirty-one . . . it – it tastes funny, wrong . . . eighty-five . . ._ Lance snapped out of his daze and looked to Keith.

“Did you seriously just ask that?”

Keith shrugged and sat on the edge of the bed. The small bunk was unmade; the sheets were ripped off and piled into a small corner, along with the pillow and duvet, and – as he sat with forearms rested upon his knees – he looked to Lance with an unreadable expression. Those slate-grey eyes watched him, while the seconds ticked on by into minutes, and soon Lance felt his adrenaline burst run down into something barely noticed. He slowed down his breathing and felt the tears dry out, which is when Keith said in a quiet voice:

“Hey, you’re the one who can’t deal.”

“You couldn’t deal either!” Lance rubbed at his eyes with a fist. “You – You were expelled! You suffered just as much as me, but you just decided to ignore everything and shove it in some deep and dank closet! Well, fine, you go be friends with Shiro, pretend that nothing ever happened, but I can’t do that! Every time I look at him . . . every time I try to sleep, every time I hear his voice . . . I – I get this feeling of dread . . .

“I can’t forget, Keith. I want to forget, but I can’t. I jump any time I hear a voice or footsteps, in case it’s him coming for me. I – I shouldn’t have to be scare t-to go to sleep . . . I shouldn’t – shouldn’t have – shouldn’t have to wake up any time I hear a noise, because I think he’s coming into my room to – to – to do things. I want to feel like me again . . . I want to smile and laugh and joke and play and fight . . . I feel like he took that from me and – and I want it back. I want it back, Keith. I want to feel human again. I – I want – I just want –”

Lance dropped onto the floor. He wept. The tears came fast and earnest, as he raised his open palms to his face and slid underneath the desk, and – no longer caring what Keith thought – he found a sense of safety in being curled underneath the hard metal. He was hidden in shadows, free to cry against his knees and wrap his arms around his legs, and a whole week’s worth of emotion came out in one large burst. He felt his nose run, while his eyes stung with the salt of sweat and tears, and he gave embarrassingly crude cries from him throat.

There was a rustle of movement. Keith came and slid onto the floor, just beside the desk. They sat side-by-side, with one covered by metal and one simply staring up at the ceiling, and neither said a word as Lance continued to weep and shake. A hand came out to hover an inch above his naked back, before it retreated and fell with a slap against a leg, and Keith – as he muttered some faint complaint to himself – slumped forward and looked down.

Lance sniffed a few times, before he wiped at his nose with his hand. The tears slowed down, but he knew he would need to wash his face before leaving his room, as his cheeks would be flushed and his lips swollen. He saw his Earth clothes strewn about the floor, which he refused to wear after the first time, but the Altean clothing only seemed to complement his body and attracted further attention. Lance knew nudity was only a solution in private quarters, but he feared making a choice. He knew any choice would be the wrong choice.

“We should tell someone,” said Keith.

“Who’s going to believe us?” Lance asked. “Shiro will look hurt and betrayed, then he’ll ask Pidge or Hunk whether he’s ever hurt them . . . they’ll side with him. He’s been good to them. Why would they believe us? You’re pretty much the embodiment of a drama queen and I’m just the butt of every joke. They wouldn’t care . . .”

“That’s what he wants us to think, Lance! He used to tell me that no one would believe me, too, but that it was okay because I was a good boy and good boys didn’t tell. He’d make me feel like I was doing something good by sleeping with him, while telling someone would be bad, because – I don’t know – ‘they wouldn’t understand’ and ‘they’ll think I’m forcing you to do this’ and ‘they’ll take me away from you’. It’s what he _does_. It’s his thing.”

“He’s right, though.” Lance ran a hand through wet hair. “If I tell anyone, even if they _did_ believe me, it’d destroy the group! I’d have to deal with Hunk and Pidge looking at me differently, and what if they blame me for Shiro leaving? Plus, who’d lead us?”

“We could lead ourselves,” said Keith with a shrug.

Lance sniffed and gave a weak smile. He looked to Keith and saw real strength; he was willing to out himself – against his previous wishes to keep things quiet – just to try and find an end to Lance’s pain, and Lance saw in him a real loyalty for the first time. He leaned back against the wall and turned his head to look to Keith, willing to humour him for the time being, as he thought about whether there was even a ‘normal’ to which to return. Keith stared ahead with a concentration almost enviable, as Lance asked:

“You pilot the Black Lion and Coran will pilot Red?”

“Sure, why not?” Keith asked. “Red’s too fussy, anyway. I know Black is harder to please, but it’s not as though he’s not had a Galra piloting him before. You’d never have to worry about going to sleep again, and I’d never have to worry about what will happen when he’s bored with you, and – I don’t know – maybe we’d feel better.”

“Will _you_ feel better? Even if they send him back to Earth, it won’t undo the fact that I felt his fucking hands on my skin, Keith! I – I won’t forget what he looks like when he comes, or be able to change that he was my first, or undo the nail marks on my back!”

“Okay, so it won’t undo anything, but it’s a start!”

“The start of what -? What’s left?”

Keith groaned low in his throat. It was a sound of frustration; he furrowed his brow and pouted his lips, before he spun around and slapped a hand on top of the desk. He leaned his head underneath, almost invading Lance’s space, as he quirked an eyebrow and gestured with his hand in a vague pattern. Lance flinched and moved away from him, until he was curled against the corner of the walls and hidden in the shadows beneath the desk. Keith asked:

“What do _you_ want to do, Lance?”

“I need time to think.”

“You’re not coping,” snapped Keith. “You’re not fucking coping! If you leave it too long, you’ll just fall further and further into the downward spiral. He’s not going to stop, you know. He’s not going to call a time-out to let you catch your breath. The longer you leave this then the harder it’ll be to say something. I don’t want to _lose_ you.”

“I just need some time, alright? I – I hate every night that he comes into my room, but if I so much as lock the door then he gets Coran to open it, because he’s ‘scared’ I’ve supposedly passed out or something . . . he’s got total control of my life here! If I piss him off, what’ll happen? He’s – He’s not violent with me now, but will he start hurting me if I say anything against him? Will it just make things worse? I – I don’t know. I don’t know!”

“You’ll have us to back you up. There’s got to be a prison or something here, hasn’t there? If he was able to get from a Galra ship to Earth, we’ve got to have the means to send him back to Earth, too. You won’t have to suffer and I won’t let him –”

“It’ll still break up the group. It’ll still be my fault.”

Lance looked to Keith and forced a smile. He saw in Keith a teammate, someone who was equal and part of a group, and he couldn’t risk losing those friendships made, not when there was every chance he would be the one alienated in the process. Keith gave a hiss of breath through flared nostrils; he rolled his eyes and stood up onto his feet, casting Lance in further shadow, as he walked over toward the door and opened it with a quick movement.

“Okay, well, you think on it,” muttered Keith.

Keith walked through the doors. They closed behind him, leaving Lance alone in the quiet isolation of his bedroom. He knew that remaining in his room would lead to further scares, always afraid of who would knock next and what would happen alone, but to leave would be to _see_ Shiro and _feel_ those eyes on his body. It would be to have a secret weighing down on his shoulders, able to scream it out at any time, but effectively gagged by his fear.

He crawled out from underneath the desk; he collected his clothing from the floor, where he dropped it next to the soiled sheets, and he saw a small tear to the underarm of his jacket . . . the jacket given to him by his mother for his birthday . . . it felt like a total disrespect of her love, but – more than that – he wondered what she would think of him now. He brought the jacket up to his face. He breathed deep in hopes of maybe catching some scents from home, but instead there was nothing but the scent of sweat . . . of sweat and sex . . .

Lance wept.

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

“I know, Shiro.”

Shiro paused in his exercises. The black vest clung to his skin with sheer sweat, something that once held appeal and served as a temptation, but now the defined muscles were a reminder of brute strength and forced confinement. Keith rubbed at his wrists; there were no marks or bruises, but – despite the rough material of his fingerless gloves – he swore he could still feel the swollen flesh and deep ache that ran to the bone. He sighed.

There was an awkward tension in the air. Keith stood in the open doorway, as he looked down to Shiro with a racing heart and dry mouth. The adult man was prone upon the floor, lost in the midst of his sit-ups, and – as he paused midway with hands clasped behind his head – he looked to Keith with a quirked eyebrow and pursed lips. It was an innocent enough expression, borne from curiosity and suspicion, but the sweat that drenched his body brought back painful memories and worse associations. Keith saw the damp patches down the sides and neck of the vest, while Shiro panted for breath and licked his lips, and grew dizzy.

He took a step back, before he ran a hand over the back of his neck. Shiro had proven himself to be a capable leader, as well as a good friend and brother figure, and yet the fear ever lingered and stained their relationship into a shadow of what it was once. Keith tried to control his fear; he watched as Shiro stood with a few stretches, before he reached out and took a towel from a nearby table, and soon that soft fabric was being stroked over pale skin and damp clothes. The seconds drifted into an eternity.

“Are you okay, Keith?”

“Huh?” Keith blinked and shook his head. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Okay, so what is it that you know?” Shiro threw the towel onto his bed, as he smiled and gestured for Keith to come inside. “You can always talk to me about anything. If you can take on the Galra Empire, I’m sure you can say whatever it is that you need to say. Come on, what can be so tough that you can’t even tell me? I’m here for you.”

Keith drew in a deep breath and stepped inside. The door closed behind him; it took all his self-control not to jump, as he tensed and gave a sharp exhale of breath. Shiro sat upon the edge of the bed, where he dabbed at his neck with a flannel left upon the spread, and – as he closed his eyes and tried to cool down – Keith looked about the room. He noticed a pair of blue briefs tucked within the pile of dirty laundry, something he knew did not belong to Shiro, and he clenched his hands into tight fists and tried to slow his breaths.

The scent of sweat was heavy in the air, while there was a great humidity from the _en suite_ , and Keith – as he tried to fight the mixture of heat and anxiety – saw a familiar green smudge upon the pillow upon the bed. He thought upon Lance and looked up to the ceiling. It was difficult to imagine counting away the seconds on each tile, but that realisation only inspired him to find the courage to confront his closest friend and worst abuser.

“You’ve been sleeping with Lance,” said Keith.

Shiro paled. He looked to the door with grey eyes, as if afraid someone would overhear, and stood so that he was finally on level with Keith. There was still a slight difference in height, so that Keith was forced to crane his head just enough to look at his friend, and – as he crossed his arms and drew in a large breath – he saw the way those eyes widened. Shiro reached out with his hand, as if he made to grab Keith’s upper arm, but he pulled back his hand at the last moment and clenched it with a shake of his fist. He asked in a whisper:

“Who told you that?”

“Lance did,” spat Keith. “He told me around three months back, about a week after it started. He’s not like me, Shiro. He’s not -!” Keith shook his head. “He’s not . . . coping! There isn’t any consent there . . . he doesn’t want this and he doesn’t know to tell you to stop . . . I’m here to ask you to stop, Shiro. I’m asking you to stop hurting him.”

“Whoa now, Keith! What’s between Lance and I is _completely_ a private and personal matter, so I don’t think this appropriate at all for you to bring it up like this, but – if you must know – I have never _once_ hurt Lance. He’s enjoyed every minute of what we do.”

“Yeah, _physically_ , but emotionally he’s a wreck!”

“Then why hasn’t _he_ told me this?”

Keith rolled his eyes and walked to the bed. He sat down upon the mattress; the sheets balled up at the far end reminded him of the past, where this secret was once his secret, and how every morning was spent left feeling the dirt of the night before engrained on his skin. Those mornings were spent alone, lost with only his thoughts, but the remnants of Lance made it clear that he lacked such a luxury. The stench of Lance’s cologne – what Hunk would tease as ‘man perfume’ – lingered upon the sheets and pillow.

“He’s too afraid to tell you,” said Keith.

There was a moment of silence, until Shiro let loose a long laugh. Keith clenched his fists and looked up at the grown man, who stood just a few feet from him and rested a hand on his hip, and – as those cheeks turned red with laughter – Shiro shook his head and looked at Keith with a wide smile painted upon his lips. He scratched at his cheek with his prosthetic finger, before he gave a lazy wave and sat next to Keith with a patronising grin. He asked:

“Are you jealous?”

Keith jumped to his feet. He spun around with feet apart and arms by his side, ready in a defensive pose to fight back for the first time in his life, and he stared down Shiro with narrowed eyes and flared nostrils. Shiro wore a half-smile that sent Keith’s heart racing, almost a mixture of mockery and naivety, but there was something more there. Shiro leaned on one hand, while the other rested in his hip. A part of Keith regretted confronting him, as he felt the attention drawn back upon him instead of Lance.

“W-What?”

“Are you jealous?” Shiro repeated. “I know we used to be an item. I can understand if it upsets you to see me with someone else, but what Lance and I have doesn’t make what happened between us any less special or mean any less. I still care about you.”

“This isn’t fucking about me!” Keith took a step forward. “You – You don’t get it, do you? You’re in a position of power over Lance! He trusts you to _lead_ him and _mentor_ him. If you told him to jump, he’d ask how high and do it without question. He’d do it because he fucking trusts you not to do anything that’d put him into danger! He’s not sleeping with you because he wants to, but because he’s too scared to say ‘no’.”

“He has no reason to be afraid, Keith. Are you going to tell me _you_ were afraid, too? I always treated you with absolute respect; I spent time with you, I helped you in your work, I held you when you were sad and sat beside you when you were sick, and I dedicated myself completely to you. Does none of that matter to you? Don’t care?”

“You’re – You’re trying to make me feel guilty. You did that last time, too! I tried to avoid you and you came into my room and started to cry, and what could I do except give in and let you take what you wanted? You’re doing the same things with Lance.”

“I love Lance. I would never do anything to harm him.”

“The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

Shiro rolled his eyes and stood in turn. Keith stumbled back. He remembered the past too well, where Shiro would walk over to him like a predator hunting his prey, before locking the office doors and pinning him against the door . . . the desk . . . bruises on his wrists, love-bites on his neck, and constant compliments and words spoken like a whisper. Shiro may have ‘loved’ him, but so many times – as Keith retreated into his mind, oblivious to all sensations and actions – he would wish that he had been hated. Keith swallowed hard.

There was no ‘flirtation’ this time; Shiro walked to the bathroom, where he turned on the air-purifier and allowed the steam to slowly dissipate, and returned with a furrowed brow and pursed lips. He tidied his room while ignoring Keith, as if Keith were the petulant child who was not worth his attention, and soon Keith began to feel that dizzy spell encroach upon him once again. He ran his hands through his hair and clasped them behind his neck, as he asked:

“Okay, if you’ve done nothing wrong, tell them.”

Shiro reached down to fold through the dirty laundry. It was a strange habit, apparently carried through space and over a yearlong absence, and Keith wondered what purpose it could serve to sort through the various items of clothing that were due to be washed. He noticed those blue briefs again, which were folded alongside the rest of the clothes without even a second thought, and – before Keith could shout an objection – Shiro spoke.

“Tell who?”

“Tell Allura and Coran,” said Keith. “Tell Pidge and Hunk, too. If this is fully consensual . . . hell, if you even think Lance _can_ fully consent to this . . . I want you to tell the others. There isn’t supposed to be shame in love. Guess who told me that? You. You told me never to be ashamed of loving you, because love holds no shame. Well . . . _tell them_!”

“Keith, there’s a big difference there. I meant you shouldn’t feel ashamed of yourself, but that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t have been a problem to tell people. The world wouldn’t have understood; what we had was special . . . different . . . it was our secret.”

“Do you even hear yourself, Shiro? I want you to tell them.”

“They wouldn’t understand. You know they wouldn’t.”

“They wouldn’t because it’s wrong!”

Keith let out a loud growl. He turned and stuck the wall with a closed fist, using all his force and expelling all his rage, and – as he pulled back his hand – he saw a streak of blood across his knuckles and smeared upon the wall. He panted for breath, while he remembered every ounce of doubt that Lance expressed and how Lance constantly strove to impress Shiro, and years of pain simmered and boiled until he could stand it no longer. Keith looked to the blood and wished that he had found the strength sooner. He wished he had spoken out.

“You’re afraid to tell them,” spat Keith.

“If Lance were so bothered by this, why doesn’t he say something?”

“He’s scared, Shiro!” Keith brought his knuckles to his lips. “Fuck! I love you . . . I know I shouldn’t, but I _do_ . . . I love you. Don’t think that I don’t hate myself that, because what kind of twisted fuck feels any sense of forgiveness for their rapist? Still, I – I _know_ what he’s going through and why he’s scared. You’re this – this – this _hero_! If he tells them, it’ll _destroy_ Pidge and Hunk’s perception of you. He doesn’t want to do that to them.”

“Maybe he’s not telling them because he wants this.” Shiro gave a nervous smile and raised his hands in a mock gesture of surrender. “Think about it, Keith. Isn’t that why you never said anything, either? You came back every single night. You could have easily have told Iverson, had me fired, but you chose to come back to me . . . for us.”

“You were the only family I had, Shiro. I would have done anything not to lose you, but that doesn’t mean I wanted what happened. I was going to tell Iverson while you were gone, but you were reported dead . . . lost . . . I – I was grieving and confused and –”

“Exactly, Keith. Would you have mourned an abuser, really?”

“I – I don’t know, but – but this is about Lance!”

Shiro walked over with slow steps. He kept his hands raised, as if afraid that Keith would spook, and stood just a few inches in front of him. Keith looked away with a furrowed brow; the proximity reminded him both of his past and the genuine moments of comfort, so that he struggled to determine the older man’s intentions, and – as he struggled to control his breathing and work through his emotions – Shiro reached out to him.

It was a gentle touch; those callused fingers traced a pattern over his jaw, until a large hand cupped his chin and a soft thumb rubbed circles just to the side of his lip, and Keith – out of sheer instinct – leaned into the touch. There were so few sources of physical intimacy, especially when Keith lacked the close friendships of the others, and Shiro was his only source of comfort, but he hated himself for turning to his abuser. He hated how those hands could evoke both comfort and discuss. Shiro leaned close and whispered:

“Keith, we need to keep this between us three.”

“I’m telling Allura,” said Keith.

“You do that and it’ll hurt Lance.” Shiro smiled and stroked at his lower lip. “You know I never abused you, Keith. I always treated you well; I never beat you or made you bleed, you even came most times, and that doesn’t sound like abuse to you, does it? If you tell Allura, she’ll just break us apart and you’ll be to blame. Lance will blame himself.”

“I don’t care! I’m telling her. If I have to then I’ll leave Lance out of it, but I’m telling her what happened to me and she can take it from there. If they’re at keeping an eye on you, you won’t have a chance to be alone with him . . . to manipulate him, hurt him . . . to _rape_ him.”

“This isn’t rape, Keith. Look, how about I treat –”

_‘Shiro? Keith? Are you in here?’_

The bedroom door opened. Shiro automatically pulled back, as he stepped away and angled his body toward the door, but Coran – who stood panicked and out-of-breath – simply looked to Shiro with a confused expression and a slight pout to his lips. There was no time to explain, as Coran at once looked between the two of them with a trembling lip and a flushed expression, and soon began to jump from foot to foot. He was upset. Keith grabbed his bayard from his side, while Coran struggled through tears to speak.

“It’s – It’s Lance,” gasped Coran. “Come quick!”

Coran turned and ran. Keith struggled to comprehend events; there was the momentary panic at having been caught in a semi-intimate situation with Shiro, but an overwhelming terror at having left Lance alone for even a minute, knowing that he struggled to cope. There was a second of stillness, before his racing heart and rush of adrenaline forced him forward, and Shiro soon ran by his side with a great burst of speed. Lance’s room was not far.

They must have reached it in a matter of seconds, but time seemed to cease for them. The doors opened and Coran made a beeline for the _en suite_ , while Shiro followed with a string of questions and complaints that only a leader could express, and Keith – as he stood trapped within the doorway – simply looked about the room. There was clothing scattered about the room . . . a cosmetic tub lay upon the floor, with the wall was streaked with green face-cream . . . cologne bottles were smashed against the desk . . . there was a smell of iron.

Keith took a step forward. The glass crunched underfoot; there was the sound of muffled sobs and a constant stream of muttered curses, along with splashes of water and the sound of a waterfall turning into a trickle. He felt numb. Cold. He took one more step. A lump formed in his throat, while he looked down to sheets that reeked of sweat and were stained in places. He remembered how Lance suffered . . . how he cried himself to sleep at night . . .

“Oh God,” muttered Shiro. “Lance? Lance!”

The smell grew stronger. Keith stood in the doorway and saw the wet-room in a state of disarray, enough that he struggled to comprehend the situation, and – as he saw the water staining Coran and Shiro’s clothing – he noticed it for the first time. Blood. It was slowly swirling down the drain, washed away by the remnants of the water, and it clung to Shiro who cradled something in his arms . . . someone . . . Lance. He was prone. Lifeless.

The dark skin had turned pale, while his head fell back at an unnatural angle, and – even as Coran knelt at the opposite end to Shiro, holding Lance’s arms in the air to try and slow the blood loss – Keith realised it was a lost cause. There were deep slits in the flesh. They exposed something white and strange, with the dark and red interior on view, and they ran in a jagged line from wrist to elbow. It was far from a quick death. There looked to be many cuts, each an attempt to add onto the last. Keith stumbled back and whispered:

“I – I should have said something.”

Coran and Shiro failed to notice him. Coran shook his head, tears in his eyes and lips trembling beneath his thick moustache, while Shiro wept earnestly upon the tiled floor, where he rocked with the lifeless body held in his arms. The scent of blood overwhelmed him. Keith stumbled back, where he tripped over a stray piece of blue fabric and fell onto his hands. Palms were cut by broken glass. Pain reminded him of the reality.

Lance was gone.

 


End file.
